


The Dialogue Of Dance

by Serpent_Ivoire



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Altaïr has a kink, Belly Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, I took liberties with the canon storyline, M/M, One Shot, Original Character(s), no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpent_Ivoire/pseuds/Serpent_Ivoire
Summary: Malik may or may not have talents that go beyond bookkeeping and insulting novices.Inspired by a fantastic fanart created by my best friend (and fabulous artist) Serena Bonamigo! She doesn't have a website atm so the fanart is featured at the beginning of the fic :)
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 13
Kudos: 119





	The Dialogue Of Dance

**The Dialogue of Dance**

Altaïr was going to leave the brotherhood this time, he was sure of it. He would escape into the desert and survive by slowly eating the horse he had fled on, and when that was finished he would find another solution. He could probably light a fire for the night using his robes and just walk around naked after that, it’s not like anyone would notice him in the middle of nowhere anyway. One thing was sure, burning to death while naked under the scorching sun would be less painful than the potential ridicule he would have to endure by volunteering for this mission. 

Al Mualim had called several of them for an important meeting this morning, even the few brothers on visit from other cities that had come to Masyaf on business. Altaïr could recognise some of the younger Dais within the crowd of Assassins, making him think this was probably going to be a target that required the utmost skill and precision, possibly even more than one executioner. The Grandmaster himself stood behind his desk, back straight and proud as he greeted the small crowd of people gathered in the hall. Altaïr could count about twelve heads, most of them covered by white hoods and only four in dark robes. 

“Peace and safety to all! I wish to welcome back those that have come to see us from the lands of the Kingdom, I hope your travels have been safe and pleasant.” At this several heads bowed within the crowd in recognition and thanks. “Many of you must be wondering why I have called you with such urgency. We have just received word that Majlad Assoulin, the slave trader from Hama, will be passing by on his way to Tartus. Our informers indicate that he will most likely take the chance to rest in Kafr Aquid, east from here, at the home of a trusted acquaintance. I need not explain to you all how vital it is that we take advantage of the cards fortune has dealt us and chase the opportunity to rid the world of this man’s presence. He has an ongoing agreement with the Templars and it is our responsibility to ensure he can no longer harm innocents.” 

Al Mualim pauses at this and gestures to a nearby scribe, who approaches him with a very tightly rolled up parchment clutched in his hand. He hands it to the Grandmaster before disappearing again behind a row of bookshelves. “Our informants have collected as much information as possible on Majlad Assoulin during the last year and we can now affirm to know the best method of approach in order to carry out the task seamlessly. I shall tell you it is a bit... unorthodox... but I need not remind you that the good of the brotherhood and the people always comes before any personal conflicts or feelings we may personally have.” 

From his position on the right side of the group Altaïr can see several eyebrows being furrowed and arms being crossed. He turns his gaze back to Al Mualim as the Grandmaster unrolls the parchment carefully and skims over it before giving the group his attention once more. “Majlad Assoulin has very specific and unconventional tastes. When he is given hospitality in the houses of his trusted acquaintances he always asks for certain favours. He is a man who pursues his own pleasure regardless of what that may entail, and he is well protected enough to not be persecuted over it. This is why we must make use of his weakness and exploit it to our advantage, as sensitive as the mission may be.” 

At this point Altaïr’s gut instinct tells him Al Mualim is mentally preparing them for something very much unexpected, given how he is uncharacteristically dancing around the issue. Others have most likely sensed it as well because Altaïr sees Abbas take a step forward and boldly ask “Grandmaster, what are these tastes exactly?” 

Al Mualim sighs and folds his hands behind his back. “He has a keen interest in male partners, ones that have a distinct talent for traditional dancing.” At this several eyes widen and Altaïr is sure he hears a few soft gasps echo in the air. Everyone knows what _“traditional dancing_ ” implies and none of them probably have hips loose enough to pull it off, even with all their physical prowess, or the courage to dress as required. The Grandmaster continues, “For this reason I have decided to give this assignment to a volunteer instead of someone of my choosing, as it is better one be comfortable with this sort of activity to make it plausible. It is vital that this mission be carried out and I trust each and every one of you to complete it properly. However if none step forward, we shall proceed to selecting by rank.” 

And this is when Altaïr, highest ranking assassin after Al Mualim, begins plotting his irreversible escape to the desert. Or maybe the sea if he can get over his loathing of water anytime soon. 

All the brothers are obviously too scandalized by the whole idea to even contemplate offering themselves for the job, not even the prospect of shining in the Grandmaster’s eyes is enough to push the novices forward this time. The silence stretches on and Altaïr can actually see a few people in the back trying to quietly sidestep away without being noticed. The bastards, they know he will be selected if no one volunteers. When the Grandmaster has evidently had enough of waiting, he starts turning towards Altaïr with an almost apologetic look on his face, which is a strange event in itself, and the Assassin’s eyes widen, heart stopping. 

He wonders if sand is an adequate condiment for raw horse meat. 

“I will do it.” 

Both Altaïr and Al Mualim spin around towards the voice from the back just in time to see a dark clothed man his way to the front of the group. And there, standing proudly with one arm in front of him and the other... well, just the one arm, was Malik Al Sayf: Jerusalem’s Dai and the bane of Altaïr’s existence (though, considering the circumstances, he may have to cross off that word and start replacing it with “savior” instead). 

All eyes are suddenly on him, some of the Assassins have very confused expressions while others appear to be simply incredulous, mouth agape as they probably ask themselves why someone like Malik would volunteer for a mission of this sort. Silence stretches on for a long while and even the Grandmaster appears taken aback by the sudden offer, offering no words to the Dai. Malik looks around his astonished brothers and shrugs once. He makes a nonchalant gesture in the air with his hand and adds “What? I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing.” Altaïr is pretty sure Masyaf has never been this silent. Abbas looks like someone just made him suck on a lemon. 

The Grandmaster finally regains the ability to speak, along with his composure, and says “Very well. Now we must select someone to assist you while you distract the target.” Altaïr finds himself stepping forward out of sheer gratitude and not at all because he is curious to see Malik’s talents with his own eyes.

////////////// 

Altaïr is squatting inside the garden booth, peeking through the orange curtain that is swaying slightly in the evening wind. From this vantage point he can see Majlad Assoulin’s back propped up against the generously sized pillows on the rooftop in front of him. The slave trader has fortunately opted to dine outside alone tonight, which is quite convenient for Altaïr’s purposes. The area where he is resting is decorated by a finely carved wooden arbor covered enough to offer shelter and privacy from the rest of the rooftop, drapes concealing the front and sides of the arbor while the back remains pulled to the side to allow the flow of air. The only light provided is given by several scattered candles that softly flicker in the wind and cast shadows around the enclosed space. In an extra bout of luck the slave trader has requested the musicians remain outside, possibly to ensure no interruptions occur should he decide to take the evening a step further, as most of Al Mualim’s informants have affirmed happens more often than not. 

Altaïr has not yet seen Malik after their arrival in Kafr Aquid. They had barely spoken on their way there though the Assassin had tried to coerce Malik into telling him just where his supposed dancing experience had come from. The Dai had given an extremely vague answer which sounded very much along the lines of “ _I may or may not have spent some time in a brothel for strictly professional purposes, of course_ ” and now Altaïr was even more curious. They had gotten to the city quickly enough and taken their separate ways, Malik to ensure that he would be the one called upon to satisfy Majlad Assoulin’s needs that night and Altaïr to find a suitable advantage point to successfully surprise the slave trader from. 

Thus he now finds himself kneeling on the very uncomfortable wooden planks of the rooftop garden, waiting for the Dai to arrive and finally distract the target long enough for Altaïr to shove his hidden blade through the back of his neck so they can finally go have dinner and get some sleep, for the love of all that is holy. Altaïr is relying on blind trust for this mission, he’s had no possibility to ascertain the Dai’s talents for himself and he just hopes they aren’t disappointing enough for them to be caught and have to deal with several guards. Knowing Malik (and his extreme lack of sensuality, even though he is very handsome) it is very likely that he has exaggerated and they will be caught before the night is over. He thinks once more about horse meat and holds back a disgusted shiver when the curtain that leads from the house to the roof shifts to the side and the Dai makes his appearance.

Altaïr briefly forgets what he is here to do.

Malik is wearing the least amount of clothes required to still define himself “dressed”. His dark hair is held back by a red and white striped scarf that flows over one bare shoulder and grazes the big gold hoop that hangs from his left ear. A thin gold chain connects the earring to an equally elegant circle piercing his left nostril, matching the scattered small bands that clip around his other ear. Around his neck lays one of the most beautiful necklaces Altaïr has ever seen, it goes down past his collarbones and rests between the beginning of his pectorals in a triade of emeralds and rubies. A second aurous string wraps tightly in a double line around his neck before falling loosely to his toned midriff in a subtle compliment to the more eccentric stoned jewellery that repeats itself along the belt riding very ( _extremely,_ Altaïr’s mind supplies) low on his hips and just barely holding up the dark blue skirt that reaches Malik’s fine ankles. Both his biceps are encircled by elaborate armbands to which a flowing red scarf is hooked. A correspondingly ornamented band coils around Malik’s forearm, ending in a large golden bracelet that moves freely about his wrist. Everything seems to highlight the man’s musculature and Altaïr is suddenly very much aware of how perfect Malik’s body looks, how the black kohl he is wearing around his eyes make them impossibly breathtaking. He does not look at all like the Dai that once through a fairly heavy tome at the Assassin’s head while he was exiting the bureau. Altaïr thinks he was very, very wrong in assuming Malik could not be sensual. 

Mouth suddenly very dry, Altaïr sees the Dai greet Majlad Assoulin with a very seductive smile and vaguely registers something akin to jealousy fleetingly pass through him. He cannot see the slave trader’s face but he is sure the man must be pleased with what he sees because, well, he would a fool not to ( _and where are these thoughts coming from, concentrate damn it_ ). Majlad Assoulin makes a sweeping gesture with one hand and reclines even further onto the pillows, waiting for the dancer to begin the entertainment for the evening.

Malik briefly steps back out of the arbor to say something to the musicians outside and when he comes back the sound of a tambourine makes its way through the night, accompanied by a woman vocalizing. It starts out slowly, sensual, as Malik begins to loosely sway his hips in a softly formed wave while he extends his arm outwards and twirls his hand in a languid circle. The music slowly picks up, drums joining the song and quickening the beat. The Dai seamlessly accelerates the movement of his hips before twirling around, burgundy cape flying behind him and accentuating his dance, muscles shifting under the candlelight. Now, with the Dai’s back to Majlad Assoulin, Altaïr has a very rewarding view of the muscles shifting there and come very much appreciate the roll of perky buttocks and the arch of Malik’s right foot as his brings one leg up to his side. 

Altaïr has - unexpectedly, he thinks, _but is it really ?_ \- never been so hard in his life.

Malik turns around and throws a barely perceptible glance towards the garden where Altaïr is hiding, accompanied by a slightly more visible smirk that he hides by once again moving his body to the side. It is then that Majlad Assoulin sits up, hand reaching out towards Malik and caressing a firm thigh. Malik does not seem bothered by this and looks back over his shoulder at the slave trader with a flirtatious glint in his eye, not at all dissuading the other man as he stands up to grasp the dancer’s hips with both hands, pulling him flush against his body. This snaps Altaïr out of his haze and he abruptly feels the urge to pry that man’s limbs from his body in a very violent way. It’s his time to act, he can tell Majlad Assoulin is caught up in the Dai’s captivating dance and will not notice the Assassin creeping up behind him.

Altaïr shifts the orange curtain aside and crouches, slowly making his way to the edge of the building before quietly shuffling along the beam connecting it to the rooftop where his target now has his dirty hands firmly planted on Malik’s ass, _damn it all_. It is with great satisfaction the he reaches the arbor and silently avoids the enormous pillow thrown on the floor before planting his hidden blade firmly in the back of Majlad Assouli’s neck, pushing it as far as it will go. The target falls to the floor, his chokes concealed by the sound of the drums still playing outside, and Altaïr finds himself face to face with the very alluring Dai of Jerusalem. He somehow cannot help but stare. Malik raises one dark eyebrow and squints his eyes at him in irritation before sarcastically asking “Are you interested in a staring contest perhaps?”

Altaïr is pretty sure he’s blushing and it’s just as good that they need to escape before anyone comes looking inside the arbor because he may not be able to look directly at Malik for a while, not to mention the situation in his robes was very awkward up to a few minutes earlier. He turns around without replying and climbs back out, dropping over the edge of the building and grasping onto a protruding ledge from a nearby window. He looks up and sees the Dai following, noting a twinge of envy at how he seems to be completely unhindered by the long skirt covering his legs. If someone were to look up now they would be in for a sight, an Assassin and a one armed male belly dancer making their way to the ground by clambering down a house. They finally reach the street just as Altaïr hears the music come to a halt on the rooftop. There is quiet and then someone calls out for the guards. The Assassin looks at Malik, who nods curtly at him before they both bolt down the street as fast as their feet will take them. They won’t be able to make it back to the bureau just yet if all the guards are on alert so they choose to bury themselves as far as possible inside the belly of the city.

Altaïr sees the Dai turn a corner and pursues, but when he reaches the street it is empty, only filled by darkness. He looks around twice when a hand reaches out from an apparently invisible entryway on his right and pulls him in. His instincts tell him to attack, defend himself, but he stops in time when he sees Malik’s familiar frame illuminated by the moonlight. The Dai brings a finger to his mouth as a gesture to stay silent and Altaïr can make out the sound of the guards sprinting through the area where they were barely a minute ago. They pass by with shouts of _“Assassin! There is an Assassin!_ ” and Altaïr makes sure not to make the slightest noise that could avert them to the whereabouts of said Assassin.

The streets go quiet once more and Altaïr allows himself to relax, turning to his companion to ask whether they should make their way towards the bureau and possibly add some scalding comment that would make him feel less awkward about their previous interaction . When he finally looks at Malik he realizes that the space in the small entryway isn’t really that wide and less than a couple inches separate the two, the Dai almost completely pressed against a door at his back. Altaïr can hear his breathing at this distance. He remembers Malik caressed by the candlelight, hips swaying along with the drums, the smirk he threw Altaïr’s, the way the muscles in his midriff swayed with the grace of water flowing through a river. He sees the other man looking up at him with those deep eyes, the moonlight illuminating a spot in the crease of his left eye where the kohl has smudged slightly, and it’s too much. He isn’t sure what possesses him when he presses Malik against the door, thigh pushing firmly between the Dai’s legs as he leans both arms against the door to pin him into place. Malik’s eyes grow wide and he whispers, incredulously “Just what do you think you are you doing, novice?” 

Altaïr doesn’t reply because he is unsure of the answer himself (he does not have much experience in this field, Assassins just don’t have the time) but all his senses are screaming at him to do _something_ so he does. He inches in slowly, allowing the Dai time to punch him or push him away should he desire, until he is close enough to graze his lips against the other man’s. Yet he still does not wish to force himself upon anyone, much less a brother (though it is ever-infuriating _Malik_ ) so he asks “May I?” as he glances up at the Dai.

The dark haired man’s gaze is half lidded, all previous surprise erased by his features and replaced by something definitely more primal that makes Altaïr think that he may not be the only one to desire this. He feels Malik’s breathe against his lips when he says “If you don’t get on with it novice I _will_ castrate you.” Altaïr chuckles because of course he would say something like that in a situation like this, then he claims Malik’s lips in a searing kiss. It starts off slowly, the sensation of another man’s beard against his stubble is new and unfamiliar, but he finds he enjoys it very much and is quick to try and slide his tongue inside the Dai’s mouth. The shorter man is responsive, letting him in and reciprocating with just as much enthusiasm. Altaïr briefly wonders if this isn’t the first time Malik has thought of doing this and if so how much time they had wasted, damn fools, when they could have been enjoying each other all along instead of exchanging snarky insults. 

He is suddenly very much aware of the thigh positioned between Malik’s legs and boldly presses it further against the hardness he can feel blooming there. The Dai lets out a soft moan and Altaïr takes it as a sign that he must be doing something right so he continues to let instinct take over as he breaks off the kiss and eagerly attaches his mouth to Malik’s neck instead, sucking on a spot just below his ear. Malik’s hand comes up to shove his hood off gracelessly and tangle in Altaïr’s soft sand colored hair as the Dai lets his head fall backwards against the door supporting him.

Altaïr lets his hands roam down Malik’s chest, registering every dip and curve of the lithe muscles underneath the soft yet scarred skin and making a trail all the way down to the triangle of dark hair just under the Dai’s belly button, where he grips on to the jewelled belt holding up the skirt and tries to make quick work of the fastenings but desperately fails. He is an Assassin, not a locksmith, damn it all. Malik apparently grows frustrated seeing the struggle and bats his hand away as he unbuckles the belt himself and lets it fall to the ground along with the skirt, pulling the striped scarf off his head as well. At this point the man is clad in almost nothing but his jewellery and Altaïr finds himself very distracted by his generous erection, so aroused his mind goes blank and he briefly forgets how to function. Malik, praise his soul, sees his expression and smiles gently, making no remark on Altaïr’s blatant inexperience in situations like these. Instead, he says “I feel we are on unequal footing, allow me to remedy.” as he starts to unfold Altaïr’s robes, making quick work of the clasps ( _how is he better at this with just one hand, honestly_ ) until the Assassin is left with the front of his body completely bare. It would be extremely unwise to undress him further seeing as his back is to the street and should the need for combat arise he is the better equipped option to handle the guards, so Malik doesn’t go any further, stopping a minute to appraise Altaïr’s form and his hardness protruding between them. The Assassin is once more uncertain as to whether this is the first time Malik has thought of this judging by the look of sheer approval on his features.

He does not have much time to ponder further as Malik drops to his knees and before Altaïr realizes what is happening, his cock is being engulfed in wet heat and he has to brace himself against the nearest support as his knees threaten to give out. He holds himself firmly against the wall as Malik starts to move, head bobbing rhythmically as his tongue occasionally slips out to rub against the underside of Altaïr’s hardness and hits the spot at the end of his shaft that shoots pleasure through his veins like lightning in a storm. He chances a look down and Malik’s dark eyes are looking back at him, the Dai’s lips now red and slick. Altaïr thinks he deserves a reward for not clutching onto Malik’s hair and just fucking his mouth into oblivion, but he wants this to last longer, so instead he says “Stop, come up here.”

Malik complies but not before giving a couple pumps to Altaïr’s cock with his hand, which is not helping the situation, thank you very much. The Assassin doesn’t give him the time to rise to full height before he is once again kissing Malik into oblivion, pressing him flush against the wall and reaching down to tease one finger along the length of Malik’s painful looking erection. The Dai shudders, gasping at the touch and Altaïr firmly wraps one calloused hand around both their members as he begins to pump in a steady but sure rhythm. It feels better than anything he’s ever done before and his mind isn’t working properly so he starts spewing out nonsense like “You’re so fucking beautiful Malik” or “I could touch you forever” or “I wish you would dance like that on my cock” and he’s not sure the Dai is hearing all this because his own moans are growing more frequent (not louder, because nobody wants to die skewered by a sword while they’re having a tryst with their friend-turned-enemy/brother in the middle of the street). 

Then Malik says “I want you to fuck me.” and Altaïr shuts up because that was definitely unexpected. He knows there’s no going back after that so he asks “Are you sure?”. Malik gives him a very annoyed look and answers “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, novice.” Visions of the Dai’s hips rotating permeate Altaïr’s mind and he definitely wants nothing more than to bury himself deep inside the other man but he also has absolutely no idea what he’s doing right now so he swallows his pride and asks “How do we do this?”

Malik chuckles but it’s good natured as he replies “You keep kissing me and doing _that”_ he points to where Altaïr is still rubbing their erections together “and I prepare myself. Get these wet.” He puts two fingers against Altaïr’s mouth and the Assassin obeys, taking the digits inside his mouth and coating them with his tongue, gaze never leaving the Dai’s seeing that the gesture is very much appreciated. When the other man deems the job thoroughly done, he takes them out and reaches behind himself and Altaïr wishes they weren’t in a dark alley but in a bed, where he could admire Malik stretching himself out in something more than dim moonlight. For now, however, this will do, so he shoves his tongue deep in Maliks mouth and keeps stroking both of them. If Malik’s gasps are anything to go by, the fingers inside him are very pleasant and maybe Altaïr will try it himself in the future.

He patiently waits until Malik says “I’m ready.” and turns around, presenting his very fine, spit slicked ass to Altaïr (who probably won’t last long, who is he trying to fool). The space isn’t enough for Malik to fold completely forwards so only slightly leans outward in invitation. Altaïr lines his cock up to Malik’s entrance and slowly pushes in. By the time the head is in he is slightly overwhelmed by the intense heat and tightness with which he is met, somehow managing to control himself and checking on Malik. He doesn’t seem to be in pain so Altaïr presses further until he is fully encompassed in warmth, stopping to savour the sensation and assure himself the other man is fine.

“Altaïr, please, move!” Malik desperately pleads, and that in itself is enough to bring the Assassin very close to completion. He nevertheless complies and begins to thrust slowly, languidly, covering Maik’s back in wet kisses as he coos more praises against his skin that he will later deny having uttered. It’s slow for a while but then Malik begins pushing back and Altaïr senses he must be close himself so he reaches around to pump Malik’s cock in time with the movement of his own hips. Surely enough a few jerks of his hand are all that is needed as the Dai lets out a soft moan and releases his seed all over the door where he is leaning. Altaïr feels Malik clench around him and lets himself go, feels himself spilling into the Dai with a soft cry of the other man’s name.

They stay there for several moments, Altaïr cradling Malik close to his chest as they both try to regain their breath in the silence of the moonlit alley. It is unwise to linger too much, however, and as soon as the cloud of lust leaves Altaïr’s head he knows they have stayed long enough. He spins Malik around and kisses him one last time, deeply and slowly, and this one somehow seems to have a different meaning than the previous. When they part he leans his forehead against Malik's and has a split second of irrationality where he thinks _I didn't like that man touching you_ except he says it aloud and realizes it only when Malik replies "If it's any consolation, I imagined it to be you touching me." Altair leans back to look at him agape but the man slips out of his embrace and begins to redress, now ignoring him completely. This will not do. "Would you care to elaborate, Malik?"

"No time, novice, we must get back to the bureau before they think us dead."

There actually is no time because Malik is now walking at full speed down the street and Altair can only follow readily. He will get his answers sooner or later, for now he is content with watching the sway of the Dai's hips under the skirt as they make their way through the city. Altair is almost sure there is an occasional extra sway in Malik's step for the benefit of his spectator.


End file.
